


To Put it in Writing

by Redleaveshavefallen



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 1600s France, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Complete, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Please take this product of my hyperfixation, Romantic Comedy, Secret Admirer, but instead of love triangles theres economic tension, commoner Hubert, cyrano de bergerac au, gratuitous French romanticism, literal class warefare, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redleaveshavefallen/pseuds/Redleaveshavefallen
Summary: Ferdinand, the son of a powerful noble, is the blush of a strawberry, beautiful and compassionate, could make sweet the hour of death. And Hubert is a commoner, his actions cruel, his mind cunning, his face... terrible.But he has always had a certain way with words. Perhaps even a way into Ferdinand's heart, though he will never know it.(Cyrano de Bergerac AU, though no knowledge of the play is necessary! Hubert writes many flowery love letters,  Ferdinand searches for his secret admirer, war happens.)
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	1. A Performance at the Hotel de Bourgogne

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who remembered their old special interest Cyrano de Bergerac and decided to become re-obsessed with it! I am pouring so much of my fanaticism into this and it’s so fun. I'm also maybe putting a bit too much effort in using the same language and aesthetics as the original play, but I've always loved this fandom's desire to replicate historical tones and wanted to try as well!
> 
> Little notes for the Cyrano fans out there, of which there are likely few:
> 
> I cut out HUGE amounts of subplots, but I take lots of inspiration from exact scenes and conversations. In fact, much of this is flagrant plagiarism; I’m lifting a lot of exact quotes (mostly dialogue and stage cues) both the English translation by Brian Hoover and a second translation by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard. Luckily Cyrano de Bergerac is in the public domain. 
> 
> Edelgard has taken on the role of so many characters, which I find very funny. Ferdinand is a mix of both De Guiche and Roxanne, which is....weird? But oddly works! And Hubert is such an odd Cyrano but I honestly couldn’t stop thinking of him as I was reading the first act, so I made it fit. My one regret is not finding a way to fit a dunderheaded character like Christian in, which has forced me to stay in fancy speak The Whole Time. Oof, my aching brain. (Luckily I’m been living and breathing nothing but Cyrano scripts for the past few days, so it comes somewhat naturally.)
> 
> Ignore how this story takes place in France but no one has French names, we are just ignoring this. Fic is about fun. It is fun time now.

The year was 1644, and the place was Hôtel de Bourgogne.

As excellent a theatre as it was, it still had all the usual features. A row of candles lit the theater hall, and pages ran up and down the gallery with their peashooters. They played pranks on the poorer folk congregating in the floor seating, where people crowded the space around the stage and the air stank of spilled drink and other accidents. These made up most of the rabble, though there were plenty more: in the wings there were musicians beginning to tune and actors preparing for their parts, and up in the boxes were the nobles, aesthetes, marquis and all other forms of nobility, madames out for a spot of entertainment and great artists there to stake out their competition and show their faces to the fans. All these were drawn to the theater and more, their wealth and class illustrated visually by the height at which they could watch the lamplighter ready the chandelier: the poets, the pickpockets, the soldiers and the laborers craned their necks up, and those in their gilded boxes looked down.

Lady Edelgard was another matter entirely. She paid the porter a price befitting her status, but as she entered the hall she chose to stay on the floor. People tended to talk when anyone of noble standing remained at floor level, but most in town were used to Edelgard; she was one with her people, rejecting the power plays of her peers. She was in good standing with most of the citizenry because of this, and had no problem approaching a group of mage cadets to join their conversation.

“Ah, Lady Edelgard! We were just discussing those appearing on the stage tonight. Your favoured Dorothea has the lead role once again.”

Edelgard smiled warmly, taking a second to pay the buffet girl for a snack (and then some extra coins for good measure). “You remember my tastes. I, too, have seen the playbill: a certain Monica von Ochs is listed for tonight’s performance as well, is she not?”

“She _is_. But you have never shown an interest in her before... why do you ask?”

“Have you not heard?” Edelgard’s smile turned mischievous, the corners of her eyes twinkling. “A certain Hubert von Vestra forbade her from stepping foot here for the next three weeks! Have you seen him yet?”

Everyone in the group shook their heads as three raps were heard upon the stage. A hush washed over the crowd, and candles began to be snuffed out.

“Interesting...how unexpected, for him not to be here.”

Another three raps sounded on the stage, and then the curtains opened. Monica von Ochs stood at the center, stage makeup rendering her face almost white, as the musicians played and the audience showered her in applause. She bowed once until the applause gave way to rapt silence, and only then began to perform:

_“_ _You desire  
_ _To learn from my own lips the character_ _  
_ _Of the moon’s surface—its inhabitants  
_ _If any—”_

“Wretch. Have I not forbade you these three weeks?”

The stillness that had fallen over the room was all at once disrupted, popped like a balloon by the deep voice that had erupted from the hall. The crowd stirred with irritation, looking about to try and identify the source of it. Many murmured questions, wondering aloud “Who” and “what” and “why”, but Edelgard smiled knowingly.

“He’s here.”

“Leave at once!” the voice bellowed again, its owner cloaked in darkness. The murmuring of the crowd grew louder, and the pale-faced actress hastened to the edge of the stage to calm them.

“You dare defy me?” the voice spoke again.

From the floor and from the boxes encouraging words sprang forth. “Go on, von Ochs, go on! Who’s afraid? On with the show!” The actress, not looking entirely confident, returned to center stage and attempted to continue her monologue.

_“You wish to know by what mysterious means  
_ _I reached the moon?—well—confidentially—  
_ _It was a new invention of my own.”_

“Well, well, well,” the voice cut in again with much more menace, “we are indeed of a disobedient mind. Must I come and teach you, hand-over-hand, your place?”

A cane, floating through the air by a magicked hand, appeared from stage left and moved toward her. Von Ochs watched it warily, but the crowd whispered for her to continue.

_“I scorned the eagle  
_ _Of Regiomontanus—”_

The cane shook with violent, agitated tremors.

_“and the dove  
_ _Of Archytas,”_

“ _Go!”_ The voice boomed across the gallery, just as the cane hooked itself around Monica von Och’s slender neck. From the center of the crowd Hubert rose, hovering with his own magic. His robes, all of black and without a glimmer of anything ornamental, disappeared somewhat into the dim hall’s darkness, but his piercing green eyes glowed as if lit by an angry fire. Now that he had revealed himself he held an aura of menace that attracted every eye (for fear that looking away would lead to something unfortunate).

Von Ochs felt the tug of the levitated cane against her neck and looked pleadingly to the nobles in the boxes. “Sirs, if you will protect me—”

“Well, proceed!” a marquis interrupted, sounding bored.

“If you speak one more line you shall need no pigment to look pale as a blood-drained corpse!”

“Quiet down there!” another marquis shouted, glaring at Hubert from the comfort of his box.

“ _You_ may do well to quiet down, perhaps for good, unless you leave your lofty thrones and best me.”

At this all the marquis stood from their seats, indignant. “That will _do!_ Von Ochs, proceed—”

“Fly, vulture!” Hubert countered, leveling a glare at the actress once again. “Take flight, before I pluck your plumes and dress you!”

At this point the crowd was in chaos, all shouting at either Hubert or the terrified actress. To each complaint Hubert countered with another demand, each more authoritative than the last. Throughout all this von Ochs stood still as if frozen, the cane still around her neck.

Finally Hubert pushed up the sleeves of his robes, his open hands crackling with magic. “It seems you cannot hear me over the noise, von Ochs. Allow me to make my point in a way that will reach you.”

Eyes wide with terror, the actress held up her hands with one last desperate attempt at dignity, “Sir, when you insult me you insult the Muse!”

Hubert merely scoffed, but then deigned a look of politeness. “I doubt the Muse has ever heard of you. And I would hope you share the sentiment, as she would likely look upon your craft and do double what I do to you.”

The cane tugged harshly and von Ochs stumbled sideways, gagging. The crowd roared in disapproval, truly on their feet now. They shouted threats and insults, demanding the play continue.

Hubert turned to the crowd. “Quiet! I offer a universal challenge to you all, if any wants to change my mind! Do you?!” and with this he turned to a man, pointing at him one glowing hand. The man recoiled. “Do _you?_ ” Hubert turned again with his other hand outstretched, glowing brilliantly with magic, and was greeted with only frightened eyes. “Then I see we are in agreement. Bid farewell to your beloved actress.”

Another violent tug of the can, caused von Ochs to lose her footing, and the actress ran offstage of her own accord. The crowd raged in response while Hubert glided above their tantruming to place himself upon the stage. He gazed upon all their faces, smug condescension heavy on his features, as they cursed him one by one.

“You, what reason have you to hate this von Ochs?” a child shouted from the floor. Hubert sat himself onto the stage, nonchalant, and leveled his gaze with the speaker.

“My dear young man, it was for two reasons, either one alone conclusive. First, that she is a lamentable actress, and I am saving you all the chore that is her attention-grabbing antics. The second, well,” and with this he gave an altogether unnerving grin, “that is my secret.”

This did not please the crowd at all, but the dialogue that had opened up seemed to soothe some of their volume. They now took turns shouting their grievances, Hubert responding to each in turn with a mocking patience.

“But you close the play—are we to miss our entertainment, and have nothing back in our pockets for it?”

“Why, that’s the first sensible thing to be said in this theatre tonight.” Standing up, Hubert looked through the crowd, then sideways into one of the wings of the stage. “You there.”

A woman with a red ponytail stepped out, the orator of the play. Digging into his robes, Hubert’s hand emerged with a hefty coin purse. “I would not wound the mantle of the Muse; catch.” He threw the purse into her waiting hands, the impact sounding heavy and with tambourine of coins. The orator looked down at it and allowed a grin to slowly grow on her face.

“Monsieur, you are hereby authorized to close our play every night, on the same terms.

The crowd erupted into booing; the girl with the purse met this gleefully, even bowing. Hubert, in good humor, chose to bow as well.

“Halt, scoundrel!”

The crowd turned as one to the handsome figure at the end of the hall, calling from the bottom of the stairs. He ran toward the stage and the audience parted before him, marveling at the righteous fury on his beautiful face.

“If no one will put you in your place, I am forced to interfere!” The man jumped onto the stage, the light of the chandelier shining off his finery. Standing to his full height, he shouted, 

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir!”

Hubert’s smile fell away. “Ah, the fool has finally taken to the stage.”

“You are the fool, von Vestra! Your mischief will not go unpunished; I challenge you!”

Ferdinand took a step toward him and the crowd cheered. Hubert remained unimpressed, shooing the orator off the stage with one hand.

“I would make this duel official and throw my glove, but it seems I lost the only one I had...the last of a pair. In fact, I believe it was just last week that I left it in your wretched face.”

“Allow me to return it to you!”

Ferdinand wrenched a white glove from his pocket and threw it at Hubert. The other smiled as he caught it in the air before sliding it onto his hand.

“Ah, many thanks. So, what will be the tool by which I best you this time? What have you on your person?” Hubert titled his head, examining Ferdinand’s posessions, before tutting and raising an arm. “Nothing we have not used before. Out of respect, I won’t have us reenact one of your past failures. We have an audience, after all.” At once two foils, plucked from the belts of some musketeers in the audience, rose into the air and flew to each of them. “How do these suit you?”

“Just fine!”

A semicircle formed around the two as bystanders pushed closer to the stage. A few, bored of seeing Ferdinand and Hubert once again at each other’s throats, moved to line up in front of the orator to have their entrance fee returned to them.

“On this day I shall avenge both my honor and the Muse!”

“Again with the Muse? If you care so much, I shall champion her as well.” Hubert drew his foil. “Not only will I defeat you soundly through swordplay, I will also duel you with words. You’re a learned man, are you not?”

“I will keep your pace with ease!”

“That is to be decided. Hopefully your wit is as sharp as your point.”

The two men took their stances. Someone (the young noble Bergleiz, who had never had a better time at the theatre) whooped from the boxes. The orator counted coins.

“Then I’ll begin.”

Hubert stepped forward, foil raised. “I see you are once again puffing up your plumes like a peacock. Do you dress this way to impress upon us common folk that you are superior, or is it a strategic maneuver? Maybe you knew we would fight tonight and hoped to blind me with all the light catching off your trinkets.”

Ferdinand parried and made his own attack. “And look at _you_ , attempting to swallow all the light in this place whole! It is no wonder no one could find you in the dark before, despite your bellowing! What you lack in presence you make up for in only spectacle, and still you remain hard to look at!”

A heavy thrust from Ferdinand; Hubert jumped back just in time to avoid it. He readied himself once again.

“It is true that I overcompensate for my looks by displaying a wide variety of talents. Perhaps you are the opposite.” A quick strike.

“You are saying I am beautiful?” A strike back.

“I am saying you are nothing but glitter.” Hubert paried, then took another step forward. “How are you faring in your goal to be the noblest of nobles? I see only garbage, polished the brightest it can be.”

“I am brighter than you think, brighter than you!” Ferdinand took one step back, but kept his defenses strong. “Before I called you a fool, but you are a clown! Look at you—no ribbons, no lace, no buckles on your shoes, and only one glove which I gave to you!”

Hubert crept forward, continuing the offensive. “I need no ornamentation to prove my worth. But you—the only pride you possess is that which you can buy.” He struck, Ferdinand avoiding the body shot by an inch. “You think you give anything? Does the river of filth pouring out of your mouth ever stop flowing? Your obsession with all things superficial is disgusting. All that you have, was given to you. Everything you think you contribute to society, it was never yours in the first place. Your wealth is built on the backs of laborers, stolen from the pockets of citizens. Your clothes, uncreased and without stain, are but a sign that you have never worked a day in your life. You are not necessary, you are not a proud protector or a hero: we commoners protect you: from a hard day’s toil. And even this duel,” a quick strike, causing Ferdinand to stumble back, “is you using me to win yourself some glory. Because _you_ need _me_.”

Ferdinand bristled, shaking away his defensive stance; he leaned forward, crouched into an attack position, rose on his heels. “You are a menace! A villain! A blight!”

With each insult Ferdinand thrusted: “Dolt, bumpkin, buffoon, insolent dog, jobbernowl!”

At the last word Hubert sprang, dodging past Ferdinand’s foil and pressing his own into the lace of the noble’s collar. A beat passed between them before Hubert lowered his weapon from Ferdinand’s throat and, bowing as if Ferdinand had just introduced himself, replied, “And I, Hubert von Vestra.”

Ferdinand took one last step back and fell from the stage.

Wild applause devoured the tension in the air as Ferdinand deflated, defeated entirely. Lifting himself off the floor, he retreated to return his foil to the musketeer to whom it belonged; Hubert merely floated his back to the owner, once again smiling smugly at his triumph.

He was just lowering himself from the stage when someone from the crowd hurried toward him, concern on their face.

“Bravo, sir, bravo! But what a scandal! Von Aegir—the great von Aegir! His father is the most powerful man in the country, only second to the King! Have you a patron?”

“No one,” Hubert said.

“No one—no patron?”

“I said no.”

“What, no one, no great lord to cover you with his name—”

“I have already said it twice, need I repeat myself again?” Hubert grimaced with visual displeasure, raising a hand skywards. “I have no patron. The only protector I need,” and immediately his hand was engulfed in black fire, “is _this_.”

The meddler, terrified, jump and ran out of the hall without his theatre admission returned to him. Hubert scowled at the person’s back, before he felt a finger tap upon his shoulder.

“Quite an exciting show tonight. Take a walk with me?”

He turned and found Edelgard beside him, smiling but with her brow creased with worry. He nodded.

“Of course, my friend. Where are we headed?”

“Port de Nesle. Let us head there now, the orator may keep my money as a donation to their program.”

“A true patron of the arts.” Hubert smiled fondly at her, before offering his arm. “Whatever path you walk, I shall walk beside you. To Port de Nesle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this first chapter, I know there's basically no romance yet but in chapter 2 we dive right in! And it'll stay primarily romantic from that point onward. 
> 
> I am lifting a lot of facts, language, and details from the original play (which, again, is set in 1600s France) so if anyone would like me to add historical notes here let me know and I'll do my best!
> 
> Cyrano de Bergerac is a play in 5 acts, so I'm hoping to further honor it by making this fic 5 chapters! It may end up only being 4 though, we'll see.


	2. La Port de Nesle

The two were making their way out of the theatre when Edelgard stopped in thought. Turning to Hubert she said, “Before our walk; do you not dine?”

“I? No.”

“Why not?” she inquired further. Hubert’s face was carefully neutral.

“Because,” he started, his words lowered in a way that betrayed some shame, “I have no money.”

Edelgard stopped, stared, and then her eyes lit up in recognition. “But—the purse of gold?”

“It was all I had.” He had the nerve to sound amused.

“What a fool!”

“But what a gesture.”

Edelgard frowned at her friend’s smile, which was wry and awkwardly bent, and sighed. “Wait just a moment, I will get you something to eat.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You _will._ ” Her tone turned serious, and he shrank as he always did with her. “While I normally do not reward foolishness, your words on that stage deserve some tribute. I will not allow a man on my streets to go hungry.” Softening, she relaxed her expression. “It is no trouble, friend, truly. You know as well as I that this wealth of mine is ill gotten. I’d much rather it go toward helping those around me than collecting dust.”

With these words Hubert finally assented, and at his nod Edelgard hurried off into the hall. She came back with two glasses of wine, some plates of food, and a smile on her face.

“The orator says we are welcome to stay in the theatre while they strike the set; I merely had to mention your name and she was well pleased. I am pleased as well, to buy enough that the buffet girl should not feel harsh losses after today’s show cancellation.”

Hubert took one of the plates ruefully as they sat themselves before the sideboard. “Though it pains my pride to accept such kindness, I know that I may give you pain if I refuse. Though it does me good to profit off of a noble’s wealth.”

“Indeed.” She smiled at his words, but concern quickly chased the expression away. “But those nobles with their grand airs will have you ruined if they can. Talk to a man of sense and hear how all your swagger impresses him.”

“Enormously.” Hubert whisked the wine in his glass, pleased despite himself. When Edelgard’s frown turned his way he hoped to hide his smile by taking a drink.

“The Cardinal—”

He nearly choked. “He was there?”

“—must have thought you mad.”

“Or quite astute. He is himself a playwrite; he will not be too displeased that I have closed another author’s play.”

“But look at all the enemies you have made!”

Hubert put down his cup and began to pick at his food. “How many, do you think?”

“Numbering sixty.”

“Oh really? Count them."

Edelgard sighed, setting down her food. “Monica von Ochs, Edmond Rostand, von Aegir, the marquis, all the Academy—”

“Enough, you have made me happy. It is my pleasure to displease.”

“As it is to rule through fear,” Edelgard responded, too warmly for her frown to be convincing. “Speaking of, the enemy who started this all...What is the real reason you hate von Ochs?”

“That woman, who could not hold a tune if it was placed directly into her palms, still dreams of being sweet with the wealthy—sighs and languishes, makes sheeps’ eyes up at the boxes during her operatics...I hate her ever since one day she dared hang her arm on one noble after curtain call, her gloved hand halfway down their pocket...”

Edelgard stared, food forgotten, with amazement. “How, what? Is it possible?—”

“That I should love?” Hubert smiled bitterly at her, before his tone turned serious. “I love.”

Edelgard leaned forward. “May I know? You have never said…”

“Whom I love? Think a moment. Think of me—me, whom most in their right mind would despise. Me, with a face like a gargoyle, eyes sunken and without warmth, hair the right consistently to grease Ragueneau’s baking sheets—”

“My _friend!_ ”

“Lady Edelgard, I have not eyebrows,” he countered, and she held her peace begrudgingly. Hubert took a breath, remembering where he was. “Whom should I love? Why—of course—it must be the one in my life most beautiful.”

“Most beautiful?”

“In all this world—most sweet; also most compassionate; most charming; and most fair. Like sunshine on the Seine—”

“Hubert, no more dodging! Who is this noble? Come, the truth!”

His face darkened, and for a moment he could only stare down at his plate. “It is Ferdinand von Aegir.”

Hubert dared not look at her face, afraid of what it would tell him. Silence fell between them, the only sounds those of the theatre crew.

“...Von Aegir, the one you fight with near constantly, who you dueled this very night?”

“One and the same.”

Another silence. Hubert kept gazing down at his plate, but his appetite shrunk more with each second. At last Edelgard rescued them from their stalemate.

“Then why are you so cruel with him?”

“No matter what I do I shall recieve his scorn; I might as well earn it.”

“But what if he did not scorn you?”

Hubert’s head at last rose from his shoulders as he turned to her, aghast. “We know well of what he thinks; he paraded his opinion tonight on stage!” Looking away again, he muttered, “‘ _And still you remain hard to look at_ ’...”

“All his words amounted to tonight were petty taunts at your clothes. There are more to men than looks.”

“He is merely untalented at cruelty. We are the antithesis of each other: he parades his nobility with all his pride, and I openly despise it. Though I cannot help but love the human within him.”

“Then help him see the human in _you._ ”

“And what human in me is there?” he sneered. “I know I am many things. Cunning, thorough, a wit as sharp as my sword and a talent at using both. I do not speak from something as immature as insecurity, I have no illusions. But I am also cruel, as you said, and callous. I stopped a whole performance on a jealous whim!” He put his plate to the side, unable to keep himself still. “I am a scoundrel, with not an honest word to my name.”

“You are courageous and ambitious.”

“I am a criminal.”

“You are loyal and passionate.”

“But doomed to never share my passions.”

“You have been invaluable to me in our quest for justice.”

“...I am capable of doing many things you are in no position to. A convenience of my being common.” He smiled secretly, thinking of the plans they made together that could not be spoken in public. It lifted his spirits a bit, to think he was a part of so important a cause. “But he values nobility.”

“And when it comes to cutting words you are second to none.” She paused, smiling suddenly. “Hubert, that is it! Use those words you are so adept with. Surely barbs are not the only thing in that vocabularly of your’s.”

“They make up the most of it,” he said with a wary smile, “but when it comes to him my words can match those of the poets. But he shall never hear any of those.”

“But he should! You could write it anonymously, in a letter; I visit the Aegir estate often, I could deliver them to him and never divulge that you are their author. Let me do this for you!”

“I could never!”

“I beg that you do!”

As if realizing it for the first time, Hubert interjected, “you are helping me. Why? When my love—?”

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” She smiled assuringly at him, meeting his widened eyes. “Nothing within the contents of your heart could displease me. Of that, I promise you.”

He gazed at her for what felt like a lifetime. “...And you would swear to secrecy?”

“You have my word.”

Her eyes burned into his; he had no choice but to look away, drinking the last dregs of his wine as he did so.

“Then I guess I shall have no choice. For the words with which I wounded him tonight, I shall soothe with words that may act as a balm... if only to sate my own guilt. No doubt his pride is hurting badly.”

“For guilt, and no other reason?”

“Enough of your teasing. I do believe I promised you a walk.”

They departed after that, bidding the actors and porters farewell. While walking along the Seine, Edelgard gave the date of her next visit to the Aegir estate; within that time Hubert drafted his letter, pouring all of the contents of his heart onto the page before cutting it, bit by bit, into its most refined portions. The amount of time he spent crafting the letter to perfection gave him shame, but he figured no one would have to know.

They met again the morning before she was set to go, in order to pass the letter to her. The actual giving of the letter went fine, but the final stage of the hand off—the relinquishing—ended up being much more difficult. Edelgard ended up having to pry his fingers from the envelope, one by one, before he would finally let go.

And then everything was quite literally out of his hands. He was forced to wait, with the reality that he may never know Ferdinand’s reaction. The idea was agonizing, but he forced himself to be at peace with it.

It was not long until that peace (however illusory it might have been) was broken.

Hubert ran into Ferdinand the very next day, the man radiating joy. They were not far from the place Hubert and Edelgard had walked only nights ago; it was on Rue St.-Honoré, the street of a bakery frequented by poets and, thus, by Ferdinand. It was not a surprise to see Ferdinand there, but Hubert was somewhat shocked to realize he himself had found his way to the spot—it had been entirely unconscious, his mind moving him to where the other might be.

And Ferdinand was _glowing_. 

The joy he gave off was so blinding that Hubert instinctually sauntered toward him wearing his darkest glare. It was a natural defense response.

“Ferdinand von Aegir, what has you in such high spirits?”

He felt unprepared for the smile that flashed his way, and when recognition coaxed it downward it was a welcome relief. 

“Von Vestra, today not even you can ruin my good mood! For I have received something so beautiful it is a shield against all things ugly in this world.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

Ferdinand brightened, as if waiting to hear those very words. “Why a love letter, delivered to me just yesterday! But I am sure someone like yourself has never heard of such a thing,”

Hubert smiled despite himself. “A love letter, you say? Who from?”

“Alas, I only know that my admirer is some friend of Edelgard’s. And that hardly narrows it down—she is friends with all!”

“Indeed, though it is more that _all_ adore _her_ —and I am sure she would do anyone a good turn if they asked for it. How do you know that these are not the words of some cretin after your wealth?”

“Ha! Of course you would doubt. But imprinted in each burning word was love, sincere and all-powerful.”

“A love sincere—can that be felt?”

“It can, and nothing could be more clear!”

“And yet they do not sign their name. Either they are a coward or the most unsavory sort of person.”

Ferdinand turned to him with reproach. “Neither could write words such as these!”

“For all you know they may be some dastard.”

“You know not of what you speak! Only the purest soul could write like this. Listen now:” and then, reciting from memory, “ _You so often wear your heart upon your sleeve, but I wish I could pin it to my own chest; it would be a medal outshining any won in combat, and by earning it I’d know glory beyond any soldier._ ”

“Ah, insulting valor. How charming.”

“Hush, you! How about this: _‘To be close to you, I swear I might burst to flames, be consumed by the passion that takes me over_ — _’_ ”

“My, how torturous love sounds. Are you sure this admirer is not cursing you?”

Ferdinand, breaking from the trance he was in as he recalled the words, descended into outrage. “How insolent! The lines penned in that letter are the last word in tenderness, but you would not know such a thing even if it were spelled out for you! Take this line—”

“Wait,” Hubert interrupted, feeling himself growing pale, “have you the whole letter memorized?”

“By heart! I know every line!”

Hubert took a second to regain his bearings, having grown dizzy for a second. “You are an imbecile. It does not take a genius to realize the quickest route to your wealth and power is through your foolish heart, and yet here you are advertising to the world the truth of it. I feel as though I could send you any pretty nothings in a card and be quick to reap the benefits.”

“As if you could ever match the mastery with which this person paints their passions! My heart has already been won by my admirer, and they ask for nothing but my love. I cannot wait until the next letter.”

“The...next letter?" Hubert felt himself growing even paler. By this rate, he might rival von Ochs. "You think there will be another?"

“Of course! Someone this smitten by love will surely write again. Oh, the thought of our next correspondence makes my heart grow wings!”

Hubert stumbled away, the lovestruck noble not seeming to notice or care about his sudden departure. All he was left with was but one thought: what had he gotten himself into?


	3. Hubert's Insecticide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO UPDATES IN ONE DAY BABY, I am on a ROLL!!!
> 
> (This project, and all the other Cyrano de Bergerac projects I'm working on, have consumed my life and I am completely okay with it.)

Hubert had ended up inside Ragueneau’s bakery, although he had no money for food. If he had anything to eat it surely would have went through his lips without him tasting a morsel of it.  


It was not long until Edelgard approached him, her mouth frowning and eyes smiling. Hubert did not know what to make of her expression, but stopped attempting to decipher it when an envelope was pressed into his hands.

A quick examination had his eyes growing wide. “This is von Aegir’s seal…!”

“Ferdinand would not leave me be until I promised to deliver it to his admirer. He was quite insistent.”

For a time Hubert could do nothing but stare at the envelope, transfixed. Sighing, Edelgard left Hubert’s table; by the time she came back, holding all manners of dishes fresh from the ovens, Hubert still had yet to break the seal.

“You won’t open it?”

“I fear it’s contents...All that food, for you?”

“Of course not, friend.” Edelgard pushed a plate of steaming rolls under his nose. “Think of it as repayment for all you have done for me these many months.”

“No doubt you are still worried over the state of my purse. Very well.” 

He picked up a roll with one hand, the other still holding the letter. Edelgard sat herself down at the table, doing little to hide her staring.

“...May I stay with you while you read it?”

He went for a small dish of butter, suddenly realizing he was the one being buttered up. “I suppose.”

He slathered his rolls with butter and, while waiting for it to melt, at last peeled off the wax seal. Edelgard’s stare urged him on as he opened the envelope, soon retrieving a letter covered in delicate, flowing script. He squinted at the words, small so that many armies of them could crowd the page, and read silently to himself.

Edelgard broke into a brioche before her, amusing herself with the minute changes in Hubert’s expression.

“So?”

Hubert put down the letter, tucking it carefully into its envelope before slipping them into his robes. “His competitive spirit got the best of him once again. He was certainly attempting to outdo me in poetics—I think much of this is in verse.” 

“That man should try to outshine the Sun if he knew but how. But what of the contents?”

Hubert frowned, picking up a roll. “It all came down to flowery words of thanks, grand descriptions of his joy, and many urgings that I write again.”

“And will you?”

“I am not obligated to write another letter just because he expects one.”

“But you must!”

“Of course, or else he will continue to hound you, no doubt.” Edelgard frowned at him; he ignored it, instead staring only at his roll as he pulled it apart layer by layer. “No matter; I will write him once more, being as faithful as I was in the last, but this time state how I am a man. There should be no talk of further letters after that.”

They ate together for a few moments, but Hubert quickly grew restless—soon enough he was borrowing a quill and some paper from one of the many poets, beginning to jot down his ideas. With each bun that disappeared from his plate he grew more frustrated, soon frowning fiercely enough to set fire to their table.

“To write the letter I have written upon my heart, after already doing so once—although in reality I have likely done so many times, torn up and rewritten thousands of words within my mind... All I have to do is remember them, but I struggle to match the quality of what I sent him last.”

“Yes, that letter will be hard to top. I must admit I was not prepared for your eloquence.”

His quill stopped; the bun in his hand crumpled within his fist. “You know what I wrote?”

“Ferdinand was eager to read me his favourite lines, in order to persuade me of the urgency of my delivery.” Seeing his despair, she added, “I did ask him not to. He was far too keen to share.”

Hubert hung his head, grasping at his handkerchief so he could wipe the butter from his hand. “I would do well to die now, and save myself future humiliation.”

“Did I not say the contents of your heart would not displease me? Save your worry.”

“Your words come too late. I am already plotting a way to incapacitate myself with these lavish breads.”

“I hope you do not. It would cause quite a scene.”

Hubert gave a weary sigh, pushing away his remaining rolls to better focus on his writing. His pride already in shatters, nothing more held him back from putting all his feelings onto the parchment. By the time Edelgard had finished her food he was folding up his completed work.

“Deliver this to him in a few days’ time; it would not do to have it in his hands too fast. Soon we shall be at the end of this.”

“So we shall see,” Edelgard replied, taking the letter from him.

  
  
  


Within the week Hubert found himself back on that corner on Rue St. Honoré. Ferdinand was there again, his smile as blissful and radiant as it was the last time he had seen it.

“We meet again, von Aegir. Where goes your noble pursuits? Have you truly nothing better to do than stand by dreamily?”

Ferdinand turned to him, looking indignant. “I happen to find this part of town relaxing! Am I not allowed my moments of leisure?”

“You are, but it is rather unlike you to want them. It was not long ago that one could not take two steps without seeing your constant prancing through the town, but now you stand uselessly and sigh.”

“Have you come just to mock me?”

“Why else would I speak with you?” Hubert grinned, which in turn caused Ferdinand to frown.

“Well you shall find nothing of substance to criticize! I am here to reflect upon the newest love letter I received, and it is even more perfect than the last!”

Hubert did his best to hide his surprise. “I—still you speak of this admirer? They have not faltered in gaining your affections?”

“Not a single step.”

“And all the words are to your liking?”

“No human ever so beautifully said those things—those sweet nothings that are everything. Sometimes my admirer falls into a reverie; their inspiration fails—then, all at once, they will say something absolutely...Oh!” Ferdinand clutched at his chest, as if his heart would fly from the birdcage of his ribs. “I fall more in love with every line!”

“You do not know who the devil is," Hubert rasped, dumbfounded.  


“And yet I know their soul! I have seen it in their writing.”

Hubert brought his hand over his face, if only to win him some time. “...I have no words.”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Ferdinand said smugly, not knowing how wrong he was. He had some of Hubert’s words tucked within his own pocket. “There is nothing to criticize, as I said.”

“And I suppose you are eagerly awaiting future letters?”

“Of course! This love of mine will surely keep in touch, as long as I ask of it.”

“How you boast!”

“Boast I do! I am prouder than I have ever been.” Ferdinand smiled again, blindingly, and Hubert knew he had to make his retreat before he did something foolish. He bid Ferdinand a hasty farewell and fled, leaving Ferdinand humming happily at the streetside.

How could this be, that Ferdinand still spoke so lovingly of his admirer? At first Hubert feared he had forgotten to express himself properly, or that Ferdinand had somehow misread his words, but soon enough Edelgard would hand him a reply that proved all these false. Ferdinand’s letter, as flowery and poetic as his last had been, now was speckled with phrases like ‘my wonderful man’. He referenced characters like Hercules, Caesar, and Ulysses in his metaphors, and waxed on and on about how handsome he imagined Hubert to be...

“I feel as if I could go mad!” Hubert raved, Edelgard looking on with amusement. “I—I am going to be a storm—a flame—”

“Calm yourself, Hubert.”

“ _ Calm? _ You ask for  _ calm _ , when Ferdinand von Aegir receives a male admirer and carries on with all the nonchalance of a...of…” Hubert raised a symphony with his hands, gesticulating wildly. “As though it changes nothing! As though it were normal!”

“You were hoping to be without hope?”

“There should be no  _ hope _ , Lady Edelgard, this should be impossible! I am—we are—bah!” Giving up on language, Hubert sat beside his friend and allowed himself to wallow in his foul temper.

“So, will you write again?”

Hubert did not answer, but a few days later he would approach her with yet another envelope. 

And so became the way of things: Hubert would write a letter, Edelgard would deliver it, and soon after Hubert would meet with Ferdinand in person to hear the reviews and mock his own work. Ferdinand would also exchange his own letters with Edelgard, which would come back to Hubert like clockwork.

It was a pattern that did not go without notice. Hubert, on one of his ‘errands’ for Edelgard, heard from one of his sources that those that were against her were now keeping an eye on Ferdinand.

“They say the Lady visits the Aegir estate more often as of late,” the cutpurse told him, “and that she’s been seen exchanging letters with the young von Aegir. Now they are suspicious that he is plotting with her, and they are planning to find proof of his insurrection.”

Hubert cursed, and thanked the man for his information. He hadn’t thought that Ferdinand would be caught up in he and Edelgard’s schemes, but that was his own lack of foresight. Of course an exchange of secret notes between two powerful nobles would be suspicious. He could tell Edelgard to be more cautious, but there was no way to warn Ferdinand of the danger without divulging too much. Inadvertently, he had put the man he loved in danger.

There would be no proof of Ferdinand’s insubordination, Hubert was sure, but that did not matter. Those who feared Edelgard and her growing power amongst the common folk would do anything to keep her from gaining powerful allies, even if it meant forging evidence and accusing a man without cause. If he looked to be a threat to the crown they would find a way to dispose of him...unless Hubert did something about it.

He kept watch around Ferdinand and the places he frequented, learning the agents who had been hired to do him in and disposing of them. There would be dead men scattered on the stones in the coming days, their hats and plumes littering Quai des Orfevres (people would whisper that the man who had done it must have been a monster, the devil himself; Hubert smiled at the names, so different from what Ferdinand dreamed up in his letters).

This would of course draw further suspicion and make the rumors of Ferdinand’s involvement seem truthful, so Hubert invented other distractions and machinations to explain it away. He also tracked down the lord who hired the agents, dropped evidence (though fabricated) of Ferdinand’s innocence, and created another, more promising trail of corruption (to a meddlesome noble lord).

After all this, his little talks with Ferdinand were a welcome respite.

“Von Vestra, there you are! You were not at last night’s opera!” Ferdinand greeted him warmly at their usual spot, a recent change in behavior that Hubert was still getting used to.

“I was never much a fan of the theatre.”

“You say as much, but you used to attend every performance, same as me! Why go otherwise?”

“I—well—is that where your good mood comes from this morning, von Aegir? Last night’s show?”

“No, although it was splendid as always. I have received another letter!”

“And I, another chance to mock you. Carry on, give me your report.”

They went through their usual motions, and all was normal until Hubert gesticulated through his faux disapproval and Ferdinand startled. “Hubert, what happened to your hand?”

Pausing, Hubert looked at his one ungloved hand; a long cut from a previous night’s activities shot down the back of it, red and angry. “This? You are not the only one I duel with, von Aegir.”

“But for you to be injured is surprising! Who was your foe?”

“I was simply outnumbered, that is all. Now, I believe I was picking apart your beloved’s writing?”

Ferdinand attempted to interrogate him further, but Hubert deftly evaded every question. Still, it was perplexing to see Ferdinand ask about the Hubert in front of him, rather than the one on paper. He was pressed again and again for the tale, until he was at last forced to relinquish at least some amount of detail to satiate him.

“I have merely been swatting away some flies that have been hovering about like annoyances. It is nothing I have not done before.”

“And how many flies was it, do you think?”

“The pests are as hard to count as they are to remember, but I think maybe...a dozen, or so.”

“A dozen! Against just yourself?”

“A dozen against one man,” Hubert replied, tucking his smile away like a secret.

“A dozen against one! You never do lose your edge. I will have to work twice as hard in order to best you in our next duel.”

“Oh, and lose the time you devote to your romantic drivel?” Hubert teased.

“You look down on me! I think I have room in my life for both you and my admirer without neglecting either.”

Hubert wondered when he had become someone Ferdinand made room for. 

“Well, I will see the truth of your words next time we duel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3 kept being buggy & pasting Chapter 1's end notes here, so I'm hoping this fixes it. Thank you to everyone who's commented already!


	4. Ferdinand's Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all we MADE IT, we MADE IT to the BALCONY SCENE

The week was like any other. Edelgard and Hubert met to discuss their shared mission, finding a secluded spot and updating each other of the developments they had seen. It was the same business they always did. But then, their practice as of late, they ended on a note of lightness with Ferdinand’s latest letter.

“This has been so fun for me, playing Cupid.” Edelgard handed over the envelope, smiling as Hubert broke the seal and started reading. “I never thought I would get to do things like this. So often my life feels like a tragedy or an epic, but now and then I feel as though I’ve stepped into a comédie.” She waited for Hubert to finish reading. "Anything new?”

“He has been hinting more and more aggressively that he wishes to meet in person. I have yet to respond or even acknowledge these requests of his, but now he outright asks it of me.” Hubert frowned at the letter before tucking it away. “I do not know how I’ll dodge the topic this time without upsetting him.”

“Then don’t! Say you will meet with him.”

Hubert moved his frown from the letter to Edelgard. “Do not joke. Ferdinand detests me.”

“And yet he waits for you every week to discuss his letters. You have your own meeting spot!”

“He speaks of his admirer to anyone who listens. I am sure he's simply glad to have another ear to bend, regardless of who it is."

"I just think it is not as hopeless as you believe it to be." She turned away from him, smiling in that far off way she did when she was thinking of a plan. “I know the Aegir estate well now, with all my visits; Ferdinand gives me tours so he can speak to me at length about your letters.”

“Ah...Hm.” Hubert’s lips tightened into a nervous line, and Edelgard laughed lightly.

“Apologies, dear friend. But now I know enough to deliver you under his balcony without anyone’s notice; meet him after the sun sets, and you can hide in the shadows as you are so fond of doing. Lend him your voice and nothing more; it will make him happy.”

Hubert furrowed his brow in thought, though he did not look convinced. “I hesitate.”

“You can’t avoid his requests forever!”

“I think I can, if given the time to think.”

Edelgard shook her head, giving up. “Fine, be stubborn. Eventually you will relent.”

And eventually he did. A few days later Hubert would approach Edelgard with his new letter, his posture low and defeated. “You have won, Lady Edelgard, as you always do. I am going through with your plan.”

She smiled proudly. “When will you be meeting?”

“I have yet to write it in. When works for you?”

And so things were set in motion: she delivered Ferdinand the letter with the date and time, and only a week later Edelgard was sneaking Hubert into the estate. She told the guards that she had a late night meeting with Ferdinand (who would certainly defend her word), and once the gates were open Hubert could slip inside with ease.

“Come, it is already fairly dark. By the time we reach his balcony the Sun will have set completely.” She lead him around the estate, through the gardens and away from the patrolled paths. When they were close enough she pointed to a window high above the garden, closed but with light showing through it.

“There’s his window; he will come out to the balcony once you catch his attention. I will remain here and act as your lookout; if anyone approaches, I shall run over and warn you to hide.”

“Thank you, Lady Edelgard. Be careful not to be seen; we know you are already under suspicion, and if you are noticed here at so late an hour it may advance our plans beyond what we conceived.”

“I will be careful. Best of luck.”

Giving her one final nod, Hubert broke from her side and stole into the gardens. Amongst the bushes and flowers were gravel beds; he took a sampling in his hand and, making sure he was hidden away, threw the pebbles up at Ferdinand’s window.

Immediately he heard the sound of the panes sliding away and footsteps atop the balcony, eager and anxious even in their sound. From below Hubert caught a glimpse of Ferdinand peering over the garden, the light of his room catching off his hair and the thin nightclothes he wore.

Hubert had never seen him so dressed down; it took him a moment to remember he should speak.

“I am here—fear not.” Hubert did his best to disguise his voice, deepening it in a way he hoped was handsome rather than frightening. “Do you hear me?” 

“I do.” Relief washed across Ferdinand’s face as he sighed the words. Hubert longed to step nearer and take a closer look—he dared not. “Will you really not show yourself?”

“I am too afraid.”

“Why for? You have my love.”

“And yet I fear I would lose it, should you see my face.”

“Come, do you think I so shallow? I love you for the soul of you, but I can love more—more of what makes you your own self—Truly! I should love you even if you are ugly. I should love you if you are disfigured. There is no man who could step before me and I would not love ever more.”

“You might be surprised,” Hubert replied, hoping the smile in his voice would hide the weight of it. Ferdinand only frowned.

“And it is you, truly?”

“Did you speak to anyone that I would be here?”

“No, not a soul.”

“Then who else could it be?”

Ferdinand reached for some of his hair, playing absently with the ends of it. “Spin some of your sweet words for me, so I know it is you.”

Hubert froze. “On the spot?”

“Do they not come to you naturally?”

“You do not know how I slave over those words,” he said with a hint of desperation. Ferdinand smiled at the sound, looking touched.

“And I thank you for it. I do so love the things you write about me... Will you not try?”

Hubert steeled himself, wracking his mind, before letting his words drift upward to where Ferdinand stood:

“You may take my happiness to make you happier, even though you may never know I gave it to you—only let me hear sometimes that distant laughter of your joy. I never look at you, not like this, but there’s some new virtue born in me, some new courage. Do you begin to understand, a little? Can you feel my soul, there in the darkness, beside you? Oh, but tonight, now, I dare say these things—” Hubert faltered, fumbled for his words, “I...to you...and you hear them!...It is too much.”

“Why do you falter so?”

“Because...Who am I…?” he stopped, struggled, fought to correct himself, “What is any man, that he dare ask for you?”

Ferdinand laughed lightly, gazing up at the stars. “Put the topic behind us, we are beyond it.”

“You put it so simply.”

“It is simple for me, yes. Will you not continue to rhapsodize for me? Call me the sweet things you do in your letters?”

“It is one thing for my pen to name you such things, but to speak such endearments aloud...I do not deserve to.”

“I permit you to. In fact, I request it! Give me the memory of your voice calling me all manner of things.”

“I shall try to, my...dearest.”

“Is that all?”

“My heart.”

“Better.”

“My love,” Hubert’s voice wavered, quaked with emotion, “my truest love.”

“Good!” Ferdinand laughed from his balcony. “My, it really does challenge you.”

“You are surprisingly cruel.”

“I am entitled! You have made me this way.”

“So I have, but you vex me.”

“And you love me.”

“And I love you,” Hubert echoed, his voice soft and fond. “Though I did not imagine you would treat me this way.”

“I confess, you have spoiled me magnificently; I believe so strongly in your love that I feel as though I can get away with anything.” Ferdinand rested his elbows on the balcony and leaned forward, head in his hands. “In fact, may I ask something more of you?”

“Anything.”

“One kiss?”

“We can’t,” Hubert answered immediately. He saw Ferdinand’s dreamy expression crumble.

“I will come down—”

“You musn’t!”

“Then stand you on that bench,” Ferdinand pointed to one below the balcony,” and come nearer!”

“You know I won’t.”

“Even if I close my eyes?”

“No.” Hubert rubbed his temples; although he loved the man, it was easy to remember why they fought.

“We have been courting for some time! And we are both adults, I can tell from your voice. I see no reason not to.”

“What is a kiss but an oath ratified, a sealed promise that to mouth, not ear, is given?” Hubert warily grasped for something persuasive, drawing on Ferdinand’s love of poetics. “Let me give you something of equal measure, a synonymous act of passion: a lover’s vow.”

Suddenly a rush of footsteps, not concealing themselves as they hit heavy in their sprinting, made its way to both their ears; the two turned to see Edelgard running into the garden, her expression masked by the darkness.

“My friend, we must leave at once!”

Ferdinand rose from his earlier posture, standing stiffly with surprise. “Edelgard, what are you doing here?”

“My apologies, I was acting as lookout for my dear friend.” She turned her gaze below the balcony, where Hubert stood and Ferdinand still could not see. “You know I would not interrupt unless it was an emergency. War is upon us.”

Ferdinand stepped forward, leaning over the balcony to get a better look at her. “Who declared it?”

“I, Edelgard von Hresvelg, against the King.” Her face rose upward, finally illuminated. “Your father stands against me.”

Ferdinand stiffened, made to storm off the balcony at once, but stopped at the last moment.

“My vow! You promised me a vow!”

Hubert took one final look up at the balcony, knowing it may be the last time he ever saw the other’s face.

“I vow that you will not lose me to this war, that I shall keep writing to you no matter what." He turned to face Edelgard, strengthening his resolve. "If you do not receive a letter from me soon, assume that I am dead.”

And then they both were off, Ferdinand into his home and Hubert into the night. The sound of the window slamming echoed through the dark garden: it rang through their ears, and then it faded into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could have included Hubert winning the little page musicians, but alas...Edelgard steals another character.


	5. The Revolution of Edelgard von Hresvelg

War descended over the country quicker than anyone was prepared for. What began as a chance encounter at the von Aegir estate became the spark igniting all of Edelgard’s plans, now and all at once a reality. It was the people of France against the ruling classes, a revolution that, if successful, would mean the end of Louis XIII’s reign and the beginning of radical change.

Many soldiers had abandoned their Lords and their posts in official regimens to join Edelgard’s forces, while others of the citizenry fled into her protection. But most of the nobility was against her, loathe to give up their wealth and power, and they were eager to nip her rebellion in the bud: their forces, even with all the deserters, exceeded her own, and their resources far outnumbered her’s.

And now, to make matters worse, they had the gall to cut off their access to supplies.

“God, I’m hungry!” one soldier moaned, rolling in the cloak he wore around him like a blanket. Gone was Paris, the fight having taken this particular regiment off the streets they knew and depended on. No more were their homes, the businesses that would serve them, and the loyal sympathizers who would lend them aide; the King’s forces had been quick to push them out, and now Edelgard’s forces hid below the bridges of a distant town, the earth around them cut up with the evidence of their latest seige. 

“Quiet, go to sleep.”

“How to sleep with so empty a stomach? I have a famine both of sleep and food!”

“Hush! You will wake the others.”

Edelgard stood watch while her forces slept, looking out from under their shelter to gaze at the horizon. Every now and then the sounds of muskets blasted through the air, her soldiers jumping at every shot. Rest was hard to find out here, but every second sleeping was a second spent not hungry. 

Most military leaders would have prioritized their own sleep, but Edelgard was as she always was; never above her people, always refusing the comforts that many associated with leadership. She ate no better than her troops, and did her best to let her people rest; it was hard enough that they were forced into these conditions.

Another shot sounded, rousing many. “The enemy?”

“No—only Hubert coming home.”

The heads that had been raised sunk again. Edelgard watched her friend’s dark silhouette grow in size, sneaking steadily toward their camp.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“Von Vestra,” Hubert growled at the sentry stationed over the bridge. “Quiet your voice, there is not much darkness left for these men.”

Hubert made his way below the bridge, Edelgard nodding at a fellow soldier keeping watch before she left her station to join him. They needed no words between them, just a look, before the two walked to the edge of their camp where they would not be heard. 

“Are you injured?”

“No, it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss. A habit of theirs’ I find myself growing fond of.”

“Yes—go right on—risk your life each morning before breakfast to send a letter!” Edelgard’s disappointment won over the worry on her face, and Hubert’s attempt at good humor faded away.

“I promised I would write—”

“But every day! Every day you slip away at night, coming back just before dawn with gunfire at your back!”

“Now, now, I am careful—I have found myself a spot to pass through enemy lines where each night they lie drunk, no doubt looking down upon us common soldiers. And my trips serve also as an act of reconnaissance.”

Edelgard frowned, but stood straighter at the words. “And is there any news?”

“You know as well as I that we have friendly eyes all across France, and this town is no exception. But our allies are outnumbered, and the local nobility has threatened punishment against any who dares assist us. I am looking for ways to bring more of the town to our side, so that they may feel less afraid to stand up to their oppressors.”

“Very well.” She crossed her arms, the frown still severe upon her face. “...Risking a life like yours to carry letters—you have always had more freedom than I to roam about and learn the faces of our allies. I hope you know this all would be useless without you.”

Hubert merely bowed, choosing not to answer, before he turned toward his tent.

“Where are you going now? To rest, I hope.”

Hubert paused at the tent door, refusing to face her. “To write another letter.”

Edelgard sighed, watching him disappear into the canvas flaps. Just then more gunshots fired, and a chorus of groans washed over the encampment.

“Oh nourishing sleep, you art now at an end; another night gone to the devil.”

“Do not speak of nourishment—I hunger!”

Edelgard hurried to her troops, who all rose and voiced their morning complaints. Her brow creased with worry at the state of their moral, the song of muskets continuing in the distance.

“To think that we’d be besieged while we’re besieging—I have no stomach for this war!”

“Aye; no bread, no fighting!”

“Look at my tongue—I said this air was indigestible!”

The gunfire grew louder; Edelgard forced her attention away from her worries, hurrying back to her post.

“What are you gnawing there, cadet?”

“Gun wads soaked in axle-grease.”

“Oh, if I had but a crust!”

Shots sounded closer now, and the jingle of distant harnesses made its way to their ears. The sentries shouted from their posts atop the bridge; Hubert leapt from his tent, alarmed.

“What is it?”

A sentry ducked over the edge of the bridge. “Why, a coach!”

“Coming this way—” the other sentries shouted, “it must have driven through the enemy lines—what the devil?—Fire!”

“No, hark!” Edelgard called. “The driver is shouting! What does he say? Wait—”

“On the service of Lady Edelgard!”

The voice, though still a ways away, rang clear across the plain between them. All the troops jumped to their feet, clamoring about to get a view of the coach. Hoofbeats thrummed through the earth around them as they approached, and before long two horses pulled alongside their camp the a coach, covered in dust and mud and riddled with bullet holes. The driver jumped from his seat to face them.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir!” he announced, bowing low.

“In the service of Lady Edelgard?” Hubert turned immediately to Edelgard, perplexed, but she wore a similar look of confusion.

“By my own choosing,” Ferdinand responded, rising from his bow. Edelgard shook her head wearily.

“If this regiment had been led by any other of my people you would have been shot off your seat.”

“Then I am doubly fortunate this camp is yours, although I had no doubts; I read as much in my father’s notes. I took a copy of them with me as I left, feel free to read what they know of you.” Reaching into his carriage, Ferdinand pulled out a folder thick with papers; Edelgard took it into her hands, unable to conceal her surprise.

“And there is more I brought besides! Your troops, have they had breakfast?”

The soldiers inhaled as one, rocking forward on the balls of their feet. Seeing this, Ferdinand smiled and opened the coach door wider: a vast array of foods and bottles filled the inside, the whole thing brimming with provisions. The troops saw this and cheered for joy; Edelgard’s shock only grew.

“You—How did you get all this past enemy lines?”

“You ask how? Look upon me—I am my father’s son! As soon as they saw my face they were waving away their muskets and falling three paces back, allowing me to pass without question.”

He turned away from Edelgard momentarily to begin passing out the food, the soldiers’ excitement unable to be contained. Out came dish upon dish, meats and breads and wines, all traded hand to hand so that they could be set down and divided. Blankets were spread, dishware was produced, and soon enough everyone was sitting down together and digging into the feast. Ferdinand waited on them hand and foot, seeing to all their needs.

“There, there! Red or white wine? Some bread for the battle mages—napkins—a knife—pass your plate—some of the crust? A little more—Light or dark?—Burgundy?” He turned again from the coach, catching the eyes of one; “Monsieur, what is the matter?”

The soldier sobbed openly, a large slice of ham upon his plate. “You are so good to us…!”

Ferdinand smiled, the thing warm enough to chase shivers from the coldest heart. Edelgard watched on with fondness before sneaking a peek at Hubert, who up to this point had been completely silent.

Catching her look, Hubert allowed himself to melt into one secret smile. He was so choked up with love that, for a moment, he did not know speech. When he finally did manage words they formed within a whisper, “How I worship him…”

As if summoned, Ferdinand broke away from the troops and approached. “Edelgard, von Vestra, will you not eat as well? There are plenty of provisions.”

“In due time, Ferdinand, I wish to speak more with you first. I must thank you for your lavish generosity.”

“Generosity? Ha! All this I stole from my father, better that it be with the war effort. This cost me nothing.”

Edelgard furrowed her brow. “Nothing, not even your place at his side? What of your title?”

“A price I am more than willing to pay. Was it not you who spoke to me, now and again, of a world without titles?”

“And I recall you often argued against her, extolling on the value of nobility.” Hubert stepped forward so as to be part of the conversation, wearing only a shadow of his fondness. “Why did you come here, von Aegir?”

Ferdinand acknowledged him warily. “You will mock me.”

“I will try, but you rode out to the front lines with a coach full of stolen goods and bullet holes. You’ve made a difficult job of it.”

Realizing he was not under as much scrutiny as he feared, Ferdinand relaxed a bit. “Well, it was the letters that brought me here.”

Hubert felt his blood run cold; Edelgard stiffened beside him. “You mean, from your admirer?”

“Who else! I went mad—every one of those letters, each more wonderful than the last. Every one was like hearing my beloved’s voice there in the dark, rising upward, like arms around me…” Shaking himself from his reverie, he continued, “At last, I came. Anyone would!” 

“All this for a few absurd love letters—”

“Every page of them was like a petal fallen from their soul and swept to mine—like the light and the fire of a great love, sweet and strong and true. I could not stay away!”

Hubert’s face darkened. “Then this admirer has called you toward your death.” 

“I would rather die with them than live and stay idle.” Turning away from Hubert, Ferdinand bowed again. “Edelgard, I am at your command! Allow me to join your cause.”

“Of course, my friend. I’m not sure how I could refuse—you have sacrificed everything to do so.”

He rose, eyes glimmering with pride. “My strength is yours!”

  
  


Edelgard and Hubert soon joined the rest of the company to eat, and Ferdinand went to tend to the horses and do something with the empty coach. Eventually the ravenous feasting slowed, leading then to clean up and re-organizing, the doing of the days’ activities, et cetera.

By afternoon something had changed among the troops. Stomachs filled and felicitations faded from their memories, the soldiers began to look upon their guest with new eyes. They saw the lace on his collar and the jewels on his lapels, the fine thoroughbred horses and the shine of his shoes; by lunchtime whispers bloomed into a garden between their bites.

“Ferdinand von Aegir...son of the King’s right hand...”

“How quickly their gratitude cools,” Hubert murmured, having just finished teaching Ferdinand his new duties. The former-noble kept his head held high.

“I do not blame them. I am more surprised by your goodwill.”

Hubert turned to him with the faintest suggestion of a smirk on his face. “Your presence here will be of immense use to us, especially in these first few days before news of your treason spreads. I have already come up with a number of ways to utilize you.”

“I am glad to be of use! How can I aid you?”

“Do you have any past rapport with the noble Molière?

“Oh, him? We struck up quite a friendship at a ball many years ago, and now he visits the estate often! A bit of a boor, I’m afraid, but with great taste in comedies. I always learn of such great plays from him.”

“Well he is currently starving us on order of the King. Think you can change his mind?”

Ferdinand smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Good. Allow me to brief you on some things before you depart.”   
  


Ferdinand left that afternoon, and would not be back until light was nearly gone from the sky. When the sentry called and a familiar “I am Ferdinand von Aegir!” rang through camp all the soldiers stopped what they were doing to watch him approach.

“Where were you so late, new friend?” A solider, sitting on his cloak that he had spread on the ground, stared at him without lowering his cards. All around were troops resting, smoking their pipes or rolling dice, while some lazily stood watch. All had either their eyes or ears pointed toward Ferdinand.

“I was just talking with Molière—”

“Couldn’t last a day among us common folk before running to the nearest manor! And so eager to tell us, too.” 

Hubert rose from where he’d been resting, turning to address the one who spoke. “He was there on _our_ business, of which I sent him.”

“So because he’s of noble blood his business is fine dining, while the rest of us risk our lives in battle?”

The tension in the air grew heavy, and the camp lay silent: the dice boxes remained motionless, and smoke was retained inside the cheeks of those who were smoking. No one usually spoke back to Hubert.

“He goes there,” Hubert rumbled dangerously, “because he knows our enemy, _not_ because he is noble. His connections shall prove invaluable to our cause.”

“The  _ value of nobility _ !” The same soldier laughed meanly. “What hypocrisy! Was it not you who once told this very man ‘we commoner’s protect you from a hard day’s toil’?”

Hubert did not speak, shut up by the memory. They were indeed his words, spoken months ago at the Hôtel de Bourgogne. He had believed in them so strongly, and still did. It proved difficult to argue against.

“And what of the provisions he brought us?” one soldier questioned, though they already drew back. It was the one who had been crying earlier, Hubert noted.

“Yes, he brought provisions—maybe enough to last us all a few days, a week at most. And all that was likely a normal day’s dinners for him; maybe a snack, for a lord.” A battle mage scoffed, setting down her dice with a clamour. “After that we’ll starve again, and then what?”

“It is well on its way to being solved.” Ferdinand stepped forward, no longer content to let everyone argue around him. He was the picture of confidence.

“Did you convince him to join our side?” Hubert asked. Ferdinand smiled proudly.

“I did not! In fact, I never put the request to words.”

Hubert sputtered; the troops wore grins and glares aplenty. Ferdinand continued on, “—he is far too bullheaded to see the sense in it, and I realized early in our conversation that he fears the King far more than our lot. Oh, but how he complained of you! In fact, he went so far as to request my help rounding you up. Of course I agreed.”

Looks of shock and betrayal swept over the camp, but Hubert only smiled. “So you shall lead us all to his doorstep…”

“—And then lead the charge against him myself. Being allowed to come so close and all together, we shall take his home and all the food inside of it and then relinquish power to the people of the town. And maybe hand out all those taxes he collected from them, while we’re at it.” Ferdinand twisted some hair around his finger, looking coy. “My friend always loved to skim a little off the top, and then some more at the middle; I am sure the townspeople will be overjoyed to get it back. And we may use his personal wealth to fund the war effort.”

Hubert’s smile grew and grew across his face, while recognition slowly dawned over the faces of everyone in the camp. “I shall tell my spies within the manor of the plan so the civilian staff is safe. When will we be visiting?”

Ferdinand beamed. “Me, against a group of commoners? I told him to expect me with the whole army by tomorrow night.”

  
  


It was a splendid battle, the plan going off without a hitch. During the skirmish Ferdinand proved himself a man of valor, an impression which only solidified in the coming battles. And with resources, wealth, a fortress, and another town rallying with them, the army’s military and strategic power only continued to grow.

“A true soldier after all,” Hubert commented in a rare moment of idleness. He and Ferdinand had just finished discussing the coming battle, and now let themselves enjoy each other’s company. “Yet not long ago I could hear the cadets say you had so many jewels on that belt of yours that your cramps glitter in the sun.”

“I have worked hard to earn their trust! ...And the smallest shred of their respect.” Ferdinand shook his head fondly, his long hair catching in the fading light. It was about sunset as they talked, the warm light shining through the windows of the manor. “Speaking of, you have always been so vocal with your dislike of nobility, yet your respect for Edelgard is unmatched. Why is that?”

“She and I are of the same mind; everyone has a path in life, and Lady Edelgard has shown me mine just beside her own. So we walk together, side by side; I trust her implicitly. In our ideal world it matters not who you were born but what you believe in.” Looking to Ferdinand, he answered the unasked question: “Before, it seemed the only thing you believed in was nobility.”

“I believed in what nobility could be.” Ferdinand looked out the window, thoughtful. “But now I’ve learned the value of what you two see.”

“And what brought about that change?”

“When I heard that Edelgard declared war I immediately confronted my father. He told me of the things she had accused him of, expecting me to defend him... but I looked into those things, and saw she was right. He was abusing his power—so many nobles are. And the people that we promised to defend instead suffer for it.” His eyes narrowed, his resolve a spark against the fire in his eyes. The sunset dyed them red. “I knew then her cause was noble— _ truly _ noble. With my old vision shattered, I could look only to hers’.”

Hubert acknowledged him with a hum, smiling warmly. “You have changed so much... Yet your dedication to goodness remains unchanged.”

Ferdinand paused for a moment, as if he had not heard correctly, before turning away from the window. “What?”

“You are constantly striving to grow as a person: to seek new knowledge, to push new limits. When others get distracted or abandon their path, you never yield. In that aspect, at least, I think you are unmatched.”

“Why, Hubert, are you unwell?”

“It is a compliment. Surely I am allowed one, now and then.”

“I did not know you were capable of it! Thank you.” Ferdinand laughed, shaking his head. “Please do not compliment me again though, I find it quite unsettling. It is like hearing a snake sing an aria.... At least put it in a letter next time.”

Hubert’s mouth went dry. What was he to say? That he had already done so countless times, at one point daily and at risk of death? “I...promise to put it in writing.” Grasping for a new topic, he continued, “Speaking of, did you not promise me that some day you would let me read of one those love letters of yours?”

“Ah... You have tired of showing me kindness, realizing it disturbs the order of the world, and now wish to make things right by mocking me. Very well; I always carry one on my person.” Ferdinand reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, worn and crumpled, from a pocket over his heart. Outside the window, twilight began to fall.

“The last one he sent?”

Ferdinand stopped, staring at him. “...The last I ever received. I do not know if mail continued coming to the estate after I fled.” 

Hubert hummed in understanding, taking the envelope from his hand. “We’ll see if this handwriting is truly worthy of your gushing. You used to spin ekphrasis about this penmanship.”

Ferdinand stayed silent, watching Hubert open up the envelope and unfold the note inside.

“ _ My dearest, I hope you are well. The further I get from your side the colder the world feels, but just by remembering you I am warmed. _ ”

Ferdinand startled, surprised to hear the words read aloud. Hubert continued, “ _ I wish I could have you as more than a memory, but to compromise my location would be to betray my cause. I am sure you understand. Still, I miss having your love echo mine, and holding something that once rested in your hands. That is the closest we ever get to true touch, and so some days I regret not indulging you that night.” _

“How you read it...this letter…” Ferdinand drew forward, the darkness growing imperceptibly around them.

“ _ My heart, still so heavy with love I have not told, weighs me on these marches. No more shall my eyes drink the sight of you like wine,” _

“In a voice such as I have heard before...so familiar…” Ferdinand rose, Hubert too immersed in his reading to notice.

_ “Never more, with a look that is a kiss, follow the sweet grace of you—” _

Ferdinand came near him, softly, passing the other’s chair to look at the letter over Hubert's shoulder. The darkness continued to increase.

_ “—yet I am never away from you. Even now, I shall not leave you. I vowed to you as such. I am still that one who loves you, loves you beyond measure, beyond—” _

“How can you read now?” Ferdinand asked softly behind him. “It is dark.”

Hubert started, turned, and saw Ferdinand close to him. He made a small movement of surprise, almost of fear, before bowing his head. In the long pause that followed twilight fell completely, shrouding the two in darkness.

“Earlier...you asked, ’the last one he sent?'. You knew my admirer was a man, but I told no one.”

Hubert slowly shook his head, unable to believe what was happening.

“It was you,” Ferdinand said, louder.

“No...”

“And I might have known, every time I heard you speak!”

“No, Ferdinand—it was not I—”

“It was you!”

“I swear—” Hubert choked.

“I understand everything now: The letters, the voice in the dark—”

“Oh my honor—”

“ _ What _ honor?” Ferdinand laughed, the sound loud and watery. “Hubert, it was you!”

Hubert just shook his head again, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. The darkness had consumed all the light in the room; Ferdinand stepped then from Hubert’s side, lighting a candle on the table.

It was then that Hubert could see Ferdinand’s face, not wracked with betrayal but hysterical with happiness.

“You love me!” Ferdinand near-shouted, the words still tinged with a tear-filled laugh.

“...I love you,” Hubert echoed, his voice so disbelieving it almost sounded like a question. Ferdinand’s grin only grew.

“And I love you.”

Hubert allowed himself one wary smile. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! I am rather fond of you!” Ferdinand threw his hands up, exasperated and delirious. “I have been fond of you for some time! And this is what you worried over?”

“We fought near constantly—”

“And now we fight side-by-side! You are a fool.” Ferdinand wiped tears from his eyes, stumbling forward. Hubert was sure his own legs would have been shaking, had he been standing. “And now you will indulge me, as you failed to all those nights ago.”

All at once Ferdinand was upon him, and Hubert (without the consciousness of thought) was up rising to meet him, and they were the ring of one horizon, a moment made immortal, a sacrament of candlelight, an oath ratified, a promise sealed.  


The feelings from that moment alone could fill a hundred, no, a thousand letters—but there would be no need for anymore letters between them, Hubert realized as he sighed into another kiss. All that were left were words, spoken, breathed, felt upon the other’s lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we've reached the end!! [tears]  
> This chapter took the longest, it became much bigger than I thought it'd be. I think this one also has the least amount of direct quotes and the most originality, so it was really a labor of love. Especially considering the the end of the original Cyrano play is (spoiler alert) really hecking tragic, I had to struggle to come up with a suitable ending. I hope you liked it!!
> 
> Big thank yous for all the people who have been commenting with their own Cyrano-related experiences, I've loved hearing everyone's relation to the original play if they had one! Just a heads up I'm probably going to be writing a lot of original Cyrano fanfic in the future (LOL) so if you want to read my interpretations of the Cyrano de Bergerac cast, keep an eye out!
> 
> This was so so so much fun to write, thanks again for reading!! I hope you had fun too!


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